


Apollo Rising

by cofie, Ember



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fan Comics, Ficlet, Fighting, Gladiator AU, Gladiator!AU, Gladiator!Derek, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Roman AU, Roman!AU, Werewolf Derek, ancient roman setting, me and cofie are just messing around, not a spartacus au though, please forgive us our trespasses, senator!stiles, sexually explicit, we're not experts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cofie/pseuds/cofie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember/pseuds/Ember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- - - Project Abandoned - - -</p><p>When Derek is forced into the Gladiator's ring for the murder of his family, he feels that the Gods have betrayed him; but one senator's son sees that the man is capable of so much more than violence, and is perhaps the key to helping Stiles' gain power within the mighty empire.</p><p>+++</p><p>((A fan comic and fanfic collaboration between Cofie and Ember))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is a collaborative work between Ember (known as [Ember-To-Ash](ember-to-ash.tumblr.com) on tumblr) and Cofie (known as [littlecoffiegirl](http://littlecofiegirl.tumblr.com) on tumblr). Cofie does the comics and Ember does the writing bits. To clarify, this was originally made by Cofie and Ember just jumped in and added what she thought would happen next. Magic happened and they decided to just make a series. Cofie is the one who comes up with the plot, though the two do collaborate on a lot of things, and Ember is given free range to do what she likes within the writing sections.

+++

"Who do you keep looking up to?" asked Isaac, his curls already peeking beneath his helmet. Without seeing the youth in combat it would be hard to believe he was a vicious fighter, already the victor of several battles. These displays of violence did not help him fight the accusation that he had murdered his father however, though Isaac still firmly held that he was innocent of such a claim.

"Nothing," Derek answered quietly, strapping his gauntlet tighter. As a formal noble he was better suited for dressing himself in armor than most the men around him, but that didn’t mean the scraps they received fit him any better.

Isaac peered upwards to the balcony full of nobles. “Lady Martin, I wonder?” He chuckled dryly. “I served her at the Whittemore house. Not one to be bedding gladiators at a whim, not if her gaze towards young Lord Jackson had anything to say.” He glanced back to Derek, as if to confirm his suspicions.

"I know a venomous woman when I see one," was all Derek muttered back.

"Ah, so perhaps her companion?" Isaac looked once more. "Young Lord Stilinski, I believe. Can’t quite remember his first name… Though I remember Lady Martin calling him Stiles."

Obviously a shortening of his family name, Derek thought to himself, gazing up once more to the youth. The boy could be no more than sixteen summers, with an upturned nose and moles that dotted his face. The sun burned brilliantly behind him, giving highlights to his closely cut hair, and turning his brown eyes amber.

It set memories blazing in Derek’s mind, of a fortune teller with sad eyes who told him of destiny and greatness. That he would one day meet a child of Apollo, and give them the glory of an empire. He had, only a few months ago, believed that to be Kate; Kate, with her golden locks and prideful eyes, who had all the greatness of a God and all the terrible wrath of one.

He looked away from the sunlit boy and back to the arena. Today he wouldn’t simply flash his wolf eyes and scare away a few animals. Today he would kill a man, staining his hands ever deeper with the crimson of death, his blue eyes shining with the innocents killed.

Today he was a gladiator, and today he would not die.

+++

  
  
  


So after the game…

  


  


+++

"My, my, my," said Lydia as she began to pluck the purple flowers from her hair delicately, one by one. "That certainly is a way to capture Gladiator Hale’s attention. Though I’m not sure what your father will say to throwing away your birthday present to a mere fighter…"

Stiles waved a flippant hand. “That trinket? My father said that it would give me Apollo’s grace. I’m sure Hale needs the Gods’ favor far more than I.”

"Oh? And shall the gladiator receive a young lord’s favor as well?" Lydia scrunched her nose with a wicked smile. "A token of affection seems awfully bold of even you, Stiles. You should have seen the look on Emperor Argent’s face. The old man looked like he was about to pop a vein…" She offered Stiles her hand.

"He would do his oh-so-loyal subjects quite the favor if he did." Stiles took the offered hand, giving her a slight bow. "And why should he care who I take into my bed chambers? I may pay for the pleasure of Hale’s company, same as any other noble."

"Why Stiles, such brash words said in front of such a refined lady as myself," Lydia answered with a smirk as she stood. "With such talk as that you’ll only double your father’s efforts for us to be betrothed, and for me to make a proper lord of you."

Stiles kissed her hand and grinned up to her. “I believe we both know that would never happen, should we be interested in wedding at all. Now, is not Lord Jackson expecting to see you within this hour? Speaking of bed chambers, and the dealings within them...”

Lydia tutted as she yanked her hand free, a pretend pout gracing her lips. “Why Stiles, you know I am simply spending the night within Lady Allison’s household.”

"Yes, and Lady Allison is simply spending the night within your household. Accompanied by the faithful soldier Scott, there for her every whim." He gave a cheeky wink. "Hopefully I’ll be having such a faithful soldier of my own soon."

+++

"The young lord seems to favor you," noted Isaac dryly, washing hot blood off his chest. Derek had been glad that they had never been ordered to fight against each other. The young man’s lithe body and quick moves gave him an advantage to those of greater bulk.

Derek simply allowed the chain of the necklace to slip through his fingers as he passed it from one hand to the other. It was gold and soft, and the pendent was no larger than a coin, with the carving of a lute within it. Apollo’s symbol.

Were the gods trying to tell him something?

"Will you be accepting his offer, should he try you for a night?" asked Isaac, leaning cockily against the wall. "If he likes you enough he may buy you. Far better to be a young noble’s plaything than risk your life for a crowd’s amusement, if you ask me."

"And have not you had such offers?" asked Derek.

Isaac simply shrugged. “Old politicians all. No, it would take the princess herself to woo me into a bed.” His eyes narrowed. “But you kept looking at the lordling, didn’t you? Perhaps his bedchamber is exactly where you wish to be.”

Derek didn’t answer. He could not deny the truth that Lord Stiles’ bed seemed very welcoming, whether the Gods led him to it or not.


	2. Chapter 2

+++

Things such as extravagant dinners were not a new experience to Derek, for he was a former lord. He knew the taste of fine wine and the sound of sweet music, though the private chamber that Lord Stilinski (“Stiles, just call me Stiles,” the boy had said, over-bright) had brought Derek to was completely silent, per the gladiator’s request. The feast laid out before them, suckling pig and fat grapes draped upon bowls, was not something new to the man. The hunger in his stomach however was, and he immediately set forth to eat his fill, not knowing when his next meal was to come.

Lord Stilinski watched him with a barely constrained wonder, his amber eyes flickering in the candlelight, his chin resting upon his hands. Almost as if he was a boy with a new pet, feeding it for the first time. Derek didn’t take kindly to the comparison.

"Will you not sup upon your own feast, my lord?" Derek asked, attempting to mask his dislike of being so heavily watched. Even as a lord himself he had been severely lacking in social graces, but he knew the folly of insulting his host.

Lord Stilinski shrugged. “I have just come from my own meal.” He did, however, take a grape and begin peeling the skin. “But I wish you to have your fill, Derek.”

Derek clenched his fist, a protest to such familial terms catching on his lips. But he kept himself silent. What else would the lordling call him? Hale? He had long since been stripped of his family’s good name. Derek was the only title offered to him now. He would just have to accept that.

Stiles took the grape and began to chew it thoughtfully, the juices glistening on his lips. “You still have my token, I see.”

Derek looked down to where he had placed the necklace next to his plate. He wasn’t sure why he had brought it, other than the fact that it would most likely be stolen if he had kept them at the gladiator’s quarters. Not even Isaac could be trusted to keep such a treasure. But wearing it had seemed almost like a defeat, or a brand that he was now property of the young lord. So he had simply kept it clenched in his fist.

Stiles peered down to the necklace on the table and moved his hand forward. Derek nearly flinched back before the lord placed his pale, smooth fingers on the necklace, just centimeters away from Derek’s hand, and looked up from long, dark eyelashes. “I would like for you to wear it, my gladiator.”

Derek bit off a retort about cheeky boys with too much pride. No, it would not do to anger his host. Especially one who held the promise of buying Derek’s way out of the gladiator ring, and perhaps onwards to something else. Greatness, perhaps. Revenge, more likely.

So instead he said, his voice darkly amused, “Such pretty trinkets seem far better suited for you, my lord.”

"Hmm." Stiles eyes flashed in the candlelight, his easy smile turning to a frown. "You think me weak, then?"

Derek shook his head. “No, I simply think you far more likely to receive the Gods’ favor than I.”

Stiles leaned forward, his tunic riding down to expose more of his creamy white chest. But still, his face held a look of fierce determination. “I need no favors from the Gods to get what I want, Derek. Never forget that.”

And, for the first time that night, Derek grinned. “I never assumed otherwise, my lord.”

+++

+++

Stiles fidgeted, his hips wiggling like an anxious puppy. “You’re not…” The lordling bit his shiny lips, which had tasted of grapes, and stared up with wide eyes. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

Derek sighed. How was this his life? Perhaps, if he had only known such a tempting boy existed, he would have been the one to win the honor of deflowering him. He certainly would not have been dying in the ‘line of duty.’ But three years ago he had been busy with training and honor, and had no time for such playful things.

And now, with only another day of killing at hand, all he had was time.

So he kissed Stiles again, this time gentler, allowing his tongue to lap languidly inside that very pink mouth. He allowed the lordling to return the kiss with fervor, moaning softly and trembling slightly. Derek could smell the slightly acrid scent of fear, and it set his instincts on edge; for all the boy’s bravo, it was his first time.

And for all that he was a gladiator, for all that he had no right, no honor to deflower such a tempting boy… To think of another holding Stiles’ sent a rage beneath his skin, and he knew that he would have Stiles’ as his tonight. Derek slowly started to loosen Stiles’ tunic, undoing the wrappings in the middle and sliding it off the boy’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and allowed their foreheads to touch, just lightly. “Don’t be scared,” he said softly.

He could hear rather than see Stiles’ pout as he answered, “I am not.” The lord wasn’t quite able to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Derek couldn’t keep a small smile from appearing. “I know you are. It’s fine.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, and then whispered, “How do you…?”

The tremble of his heart. The tremor in his voice. The way his skin vibrated just slightly, quivering underneath Derek’s searching hands. “That matters not.”

Their next kiss held all the heat of the sun and all the ferocity of the wolf. It was two desires colliding, a hungry want and a feverish need. Stiles clung on desperately, too prideful to admit his fear, yet too young to go without it. Derek knew fear all too well, and desperation too. He welcomed it like an old friend, for he was about to receive his fill of what he so desperately wanted. Needed.

The bed was soft, with silken sheets and bright embroidery. The firelight glowed brightly against Stiles’ pale skin as Derek laid him gently down, skin flushed pink as Derek prepared him with warmed oil, squirming with barely constrained discomfort.

"Can you take me?" Derek whispered into Stiles’ ear, pushing his fingers deeper.

"Ah… ah- yes," Stiles muttered back, his eyes closing in twisted ecstasy.

Derek huffed, lifting the lord’s legs upwards. He slipped into Stiles’ tight heat slowly, his eyes closing at the feel of it. How the Gods’ blessings simply paled compared to this sweet feeling. The greatest of pleasures was beneath Derek now, and he knew that fate had given him a gift.

Stiles moaned without reserve as Derek began to move within him, his pink mouth opened in pleasure as Derek took his sweet time. Oh, but Derek was truly spoiling his young lord. Tonight was not the time to show how much he desperately wished to ravish, to rut within his lover with the ferocity that could only be given to a kin of wolves. No, tonight should hold the air of sweet caresses and soft kisses, of light touches and whispered reassurances.

He allowed Stiles’ to cling to him desperately, to call out his name as if Derek was a God himself. Stiles rubbed himself along Derek’s stomach, the friction causing his breath to hitch, and Derek continued to gently thrust his hips forward, a smooth motion he knew would send sparks within his lordling.

Stiles, sweaty and needy and flushed red against creamy skin, soon reached his climax, too young and inexperienced to be able to keep himself from letting go too soon. He cried out Derek’s name like a holy chant, desperate for the release that Derek was oh so willing to give him. The gladiator cradled the back of his lord’s head, allowing his fingers to sift through the short, silky locks, before succumbing to the desire himself, the greatest of pleasures taking hold of him as he marked his lover with a single bite.

+++

It wasn’t that Stiles was a wisp of a thing. He had height, he had muscle, it was just- it was just he would rather be reading scrolls by the firelight than in the courtyard swinging a sword, alright? And he didn’t tan like Derek, he burned, and the only thing less attractive than parchment white skin was crispy, flaky red. So if he spent more times indoors and in the shade, as did the ladies of the court, well, he couldn’t help that either.

But Derek looked down upon Stiles like he was a beautiful thing, a precious gem clasped between his hands. Calloused hands, thick and strong, pressing themselves ever deeper within Stiles. Touching places that made his pulse race and his breath come in gasps. He didn’t try to hold back his moans, because why deny Derek what was obviously a pleasure? The gladiator may not enjoy music, but the sounds of Stiles’ ecstasy seemed the sweetest ambrosia.

And when his faithful soldier entered him, when Stiles felt that hard heat between his legs, he knew that he would become addicted to this feeling. He was a lord, was he not? He could consume what he wished, and he wished to consume Derek body and soul. Derek, with broad shoulders and hulking mass, warm skin which slid so deliciously against Stiles’ own, calloused fingers with rubbed against the boy’s back. Hands once covered in blood, now covered in oil and sweat.

It was an odd feeling, not without its discomforts, having a man within him, but Stiles’ could already feel the sensation of pleasure growing deep, like an ember about to spark into flame. He had never been so intimate with another, so closely connected, every point of contact building heat between them. His eyes were closed in the sensation as he threw his head back, allowing the feeling to build.

Derek, the good lover he was, was quick with his calming whispers. “You’re so beautiful, so perfect,” the older man sighed. “You feel so good.”

Stiles could barely contain his smirk between ragged moans. Oh, what a fine purchase he had made; a lover who was completely devoted to Stiles’ whims. A soldier who would fight for Stiles’ honor, an extension of the lord himself. A son of Romulus to give him power and pleasure in turn.

He cried Derek’s name as he felt his climax reach him, unable and not wanting to hold back. This was what the gladiator was for, was it not? To give Stiles the pleasure of viewing a spectacle on the battle field, and to give him the sensation of bliss in his bed chambers. But the lord had already decided that his faithful soldier was to fight no more on the Emperor’s whim. It would be by Stiles’ command, and by Stiles’ command alone, that Derek would shed more blood. More sweat.

He cried Derek’s name like the champion he was, Stiles’ champion forever more. He felt Derek’s gentle hand pet the back of his hair, and he felt victory growing within him. He would endear himself to this man, take pleasurable nights from his gladiator, and use him to gain the glory of an empire.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


+++

Isaac was not of the house of Lahey, because there was no house of Lahey. He was a servant’s son, and a servant himself until his father’s murder. When the blame had been laid upon his head he had denied it, begged and pleaded for the justice that the courts had so often boasted of. But he had found none. He had no gold to give, no bribes to hand out, and so he had been thrown within the gladiator’s ring.

But Isaac was not weak. He had grown up fighting for scraps. He had been Lord Jackson’s sparring partner since the brat was a child, and while Isaac was never allowed to win, he always allowed himself to learn. Had wielded a blade deftly in hopes of one day leaving his poor existence, for greatness untold. And now he was wielding a sword against the only man to show him kindness since he had been accused of his father’s murder.

"I don’t want to kill you, Derek, but I will," Isaac warned under his breath, the hot sun beating down upon them both. "I did not fight all these months to die now."

Derek said nothing, his brows furrowed in concentration as he took a fighting stance.

What did the man want? Victory and a chance with the Emperor’s household? Lady Argent was renowned for her beauty, but she was also infamous for her ruthlessness. And she had, after all, accused Derek of his murders. But would that not be the best position for revenge? By her side?

And then there was Stilinski. A beautiful boy with a quick mind, if Isaac remembered the gossip right. Derek had spent a night with the lord, but had refused to speak further of it. Was that Derek’s goal? To be the plaything of a senator’s son? To spend his night warming a bed?

Isaac glanced up at the spectators, wondering what he wanted for himself. Emperor Argent was not a kind ruler, and Isaac doubted he would be a kind master. Lady Argent, quite frankly, scared him. But perhaps, within the Argent household, Isaac would gain a chance at glory, a spot at the Gods’ table…

 _And perhaps a chance to see the Lady Allison again_ , came an unbidden thought at the back of his mind. He clenched his sword and banished such thoughts. First, he would try not to die.

+++

Derek leaped to the side to avoid Isaac’s quick blade to his legs. By Jove, the lad was fast. Derek knew he was faster though, stronger. He had to contain the wolf within him with such spectators, as any inhuman displays of strength would be questioned. Though… He glanced up at Kate Argent, her smile as sharp as his blade. Though he suspected some may already know of his family’s secret.

"Fight back!" shouted Isaac, his face terrible with rage.

So Derek did. Their locked blades clanged as they met, the metal scrapping against each other as they pushed against one another. Derek pushed forward with his shield, sweeping his sword forward as Isaac was forced back, drawing blood against the youth’s arm.

Derek would not die, but he would not win. He had a destiny before him, a power to be gained, and none would be found at the end of Lady Argent’s leash. But the Emperor could easily demand for Derek to be handed over if the fight was not to his liking. No, he had to show that Isaac was the stronger fighter, the better prize to be won.

He knew that Isaac’s shield was coming, with enough force to knock him to the ground, and yet he allowed it to come, falling onto his back. He saw Isaac’s blade gleam in the sunlight as it flew downward, quick as Diane's arrow into his chest. He did not resist. He did not struggle. He allowed the blood to choke his lungs.

He looked up to see Isaac’s eyes cloudy with tears. Of course the youth would be upset. After all, that move? The stance of Isaac’s feet, the grip on his blade? Those were all things Derek had taught the boy himself. He couldn’t help but smile at how strong Isaac had become. The last thing he remembered was feeling the weight of Stiles’ pendant against his throat, before losing himself to darkness.

+++

Oh, but did Stiles’ blood run cold as he saw his gladiator fall to the ground. He wouldn’t believe it. Not when a blade ran through Derek’s chest, not when his mouth became lax, his bloody body lying upon the pale sand. No, this was Stiles’ champion, his soldier, his sword. He could not be dead. Stiles would not allow it.

"Get me a healer!" he shouted to the servants surrounding them. He pointed to the guards. "Get him off the field, now!”

The guards looked towards the Emperor, the old bastard smug and smiling. He nodded graciously, allowing them to rush to Derek’s aid. It was obvious he thought the gladiator dead, and was not displeased with the consequence.

Lady Argent, however, looked as furious as Stiles’ felt. It was obvious who was the victor of this battle, and thus her prize. She looked towards Isaac with thinly veiled contempt as he walked up to her, bowing low.

Stiles’ rushed to meet the guards as they brought Derek into the inner chambers of the gladiator’s ring. He would not let this man die, no. Not this day, not without Stiles’ permission. He would get the finest of healers, the most modern of medicines, the favor of the highest Gods. Whatever it took.

+++

Derek opened his eyes to the sound of quiet sobbing. His entire body ached, the taste of blood clotting his mouth. Glaringly hot pain emanated from his chest. He clenched his fangs to keep from howling, dug his claws into the cold slab beneath him. He would heal, but it was draining him, sucking away at his energy like the deepest pit.

The sobbing stopped, and suddenly Stiles was looking down at him with wonder. “You’re… you’re healing,” he said, eyes wide, voice awed. Pink was blossomed along his glistening cheeks.

Shit. How was Derek going to explain this one? He tried to keep the blue from bleeding into his eyes, but it was a losing battle. His wolf had to come out for him to heal, and it was useless to stop it. Useless to fight back.

Stiles touched his face, lightly, almost with reverence. “You died. They pronounced you dead, I was there. No heartbeat, no breath…” He bit his lips. “Hades had you in his grasp, and yet now you breathe.” He traced his hand along Derek’s chest. “Your skin was torn, but yet now it is healed… What matter of man are you?”

Derek grasped the pendant, now splattered with blood. “A man with the Gods’ good grace, or did you forget?” He chuckled, wincing at how the movement dug deep within his chest. He was not yet fully healed. “And why do you speak of Hades, my Lord? Is not Pluto the God you should be naming?”

Stiles’ smile was weak. “My mother was a noble of Greece, I’ll have you know. And she was the one who told me of the Gods. She said they have many names, and many faces. She said they could be terrible and cruel, yet a man with their favor would find the greatest of glory.”

Derek cupped Stiles’ hand, forgetting the blood and dirt which coated it. “And I have found it, Lordling. Right within my gasp.”

His vision swam as darkness once more took him, Stiles’ amber eyes shining in the firelight the last thing he saw, curiosity sparking within them.

+++

+++

Stiles sighed contentedly as Derek continued to lightly massage his shoulders. The gladiator’s hands were strong and calloused, yet surprisingly gentle against the young lord.

"Your neck looks naked without a pendant to grace it," said Derek lowly, rubbing his fingers lightly along Stiles’ skin.

Sties shivered at the touch. “I have a good deal more pendants, if that is to your liking,” he answered with a smirk.

Derek’s hands hesitated but a moment. “No… I much prefer it bare, when we two are alone.” Before Stiles could question the seriousness of the man’s tone, he continued, “But tell me of your household, my lord. My family did not mingle within Rome’s walls often,” and began to once more knead Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles glanced quickly upwards towards Derek’s pensive face before answering, “The Stilinski family has long been entrusted with the safety of Rome, and for generations we have lead her armies. My father is a celebrated Senator, though perhaps not as wealthy as others. I suspect that’s because he does not take kindly to bribes, as some in the senate do…”

Derek huffed. “I remember that the Lady Stilinski’s death was more mourned within Rome than the Emperor’s wife, if gossip is anything to go by.”

"For once gossip proves true." Stiles’ voice was smug, though quiet. "My mother Claudia was a true Roman, despite her Grecian ancestry. She was beloved by all the city, and her funeral produced more tears than Orpheus’ lyre." His fists clenched, her memory still tinged with the sadness of her parting.

Derek allowed a quiet moment to pass before asking, “And does your father know of your recent purchase, my lord?”

Stiles ducked his head coyly. “Why, I see no reason why I shouldn’t have a soldier to protect me, do you? Bed chambers are often the scenes of assassination, or so I hear.” He laid his hand on the Derek’s lightly, glancing upwards. “You will make sure I sleep well at night, won’t you?”

Derek nodded gravely. “It would be a dishonor to my name if I did any less.” He slid his hands away slowly, making his way to one of the table’s other chairs, easily sitting down.

Stiles eyed him curiously. “You’ll have to be a bit less graceful than that if you want others to believe you are still wounded. Many saw your battle today, and not all are so ready to believe in the Gods quite so quickly as I.” The statement held an edge of sarcasm. Stiles didn’t trust in Derek’s story, not completely. But he knew an advantage when he saw one, and Derek’s power, wherever is stemmed from, was an advantage indeed.

Derek merely shrugged. “I will put on an act worthy of Bacchus himself, once the proper audience has been prepared.” He took a sip of wine before adding, “And speaking of audiences, is not Lady Martin usually in your attendance? Your betrothed has been absent from your side all day.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh, come now, do not speak in such jealousy. My betrothed is merely a friend, a foolish childhood love that quickly died. Her family’s wealth simply wishes to have my name, that is all.”

"And you feel no attraction towards the woman? She is quite beautiful."

"Attraction aplenty, but I know a lost case when I see one. She has the handsome Jackson cradled in her hands, and she likes it that way." Stiles grumbled as he sorted his papers, "Between her and Allison, I’m not sure my love life is all too worrying."

‘“Allison?” Derek asked, his tone suddenly hard. “As in the Lady Argent, granddaughter of the emperor?”

Stiles looked up sharply. “Yes, Lady Allison and friend of this household. I may not look kindly upon her family, but the lady is to be treated with honor, is that understood?”

Obviously sensing a useless argument when he sensed one, Derek simply nodded.

"And if you _are_ to live in my household, I suppose you should know what secrets must be contained within it," Stiles continued, papers now left forgotten. "No one must know of Lydia’s love of Jackson, and no one must know of Allison’s love of Scott. Betray that trust and there will be dire consequences for us both."

"Scott? Of what family?" Derek had never heard the name before.

Stiles rolled his eyes, glaring down at the papers before him. "Of no family his father is willing to admit to. He’s the bastard son of a man I will not name, and was raised with me like a brother. My father secured him a position as a palace guard, and from there… well, it simply must not be spoken of, the affection between an Argent and a bastard son." He leaned forward on the table and rubbed his hair distractingly. "To be honest I have no notion how it shall turn out, but I will simply support my friends the best I am able."

Derek nodded solemnly. “Sometimes that is all you can do. A support of a friend is by no means a small gesture.”

Stiles smiled once more. “And shall I always have that from you, my gladiator? The support of a friend?”

Derek leaned forward, his smile dangerous. “Better. You’ll have the support of a soldier.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((This was a short one!))

+++ 

"Father!" Stiles cried out, rushing forward to embrace the man, laughing openly. "Did you defeat the enemy in but a week? Last I heard you were expected to be outside the city walls for a month."

"Peaceful means were thankfully found. Now let me have a look at you." Lord Stilinski took his son’s shoulders in his hands, glancing up and down. "Well, you’re in one piece, which is more than I expected. Though as for your belongings…" He tapped Stiles’ chest. "Where is the pendant I gifted you?" 

Stiles at least had the decency to blush. “Ah, well… about the pendant.” He flashed a smile. “I thought it best for another.” 

"Lady Martin?" his father inquired with a raised brow. 

"Not precisely…" 

Just at that moment, Derek, who had been standing a few feet away, stepped forward. “That honor belongs to me, Lord Stilinski.” 

"And who is making such a claim?" asked the lord, his eyes suddenly cast in suspicion. 

"A new soldier for the household!" Stiles exclaimed, his smile over-bright. "And my personal protector, I’ve decided. Hopefully I am old enough to decide my own protector?" 

"Perhaps not old enough to forgo asking my permission, however. And avoiding telling me his name does not help me think you a man worthy of such decision," Lord Stilnski added sternly. 

Derek saluted. “Lord Stilinski, I am Derek, formerly of the Hale house.” 

The lords gaze grew sharp. “The one who was found guilty of his family’s murder?” 

Derek hesitated at that, looking clearly lost with how to respond. 

"Found guilty after Lady Argent’s claim," Stiles huffed, placing his hand on Derek’s shoulder. "I can think no situation more grounded in an unfair ruling. I will be claiming Derek’s good name back, once I have received the documents of the case." 

Derek seemed startled at the claim, looking at the hand on his shoulder with surprise. 

Lord Stilinski looked upon such intimate handling with suspicion. “I have heard many rumors of you, Derek. Much violence, much anger, and not much good. Who am I to entrust you with my son?” 

"You know me as a man of violence, but that is a soldier’s work," Derek countered, opening his hands. "You know me as a man of anger, which is true when I am in a battle. Can you claim any other feeling, for a man fighting for his life? And rumors are but that. Allow me to show my worth as a soldier at your household, before you turn me away.” 

The lord looked no less suspicious, but he nodded solemnly. “I will allow you to do so, and only on your family’s good name. Should my son not prove your innocence, or should you fail in your duties, the gladiator’s ring is not all you should fear in consequence.” He stepped forward and gave a hard smile, his voice growing low. “And though my son may seem quite friendly towards you, never forget your place within my house. You will not touch my son, do I make myself clear?” 

"Too late for that," Stiles muttered under his breath, too quiet for his father to hear. 

Derek heard though, and it took all his will to suppress a smile. “As clear as the springs of Fontus, my lord.”


	5. Chapter 5

+++

"Lord Stilinski, I find it hard to perform my duties with secrecy when you continue to be so loud," Derek chastised, looking up from his position on his knees.

Stiles, currently seated on his bed with his tunic rucked up to his armpits, didn’t respond. He was too busy breathing hard, his eyes heavy lidded with bliss. His erection was shiny with Derek’s spit, precum leaking from the head.

Derek took the time to sweep his tongue along Stiles’ slit, allowing his tongue to warm the sensitive flesh before swallowing the cock whole. Stiles raised a hand to bite his fist, his moans barely constrained. Derek pulled off with a tut before lifting the boy’s tunic to his mouth with a grumbled, “Bite this, I don’t want your father to ask why you have bloody knuckles.”

Stiles shot the man a glare, his nose upturned. “Just because my father’s in the house doesn’t mean I won’t give you a piece- uhnnn!”

Derek smirked as he worked his oil slicked fingers deeper inside. “Save your pretty words for afterwards, my lord.”

Stiles huffily bit into the offered piece of tunic, his glower showing just how much he appreciated such comments. But all protests were lost in his eyes as they begin to glaze over, Derek’s careful administrations of his fingers and his skillful tongue turning his mind numb. Ah, now this was money well spent.

Derek pulled off once more with a final lick before making his way up Stiles’ body, kissing and biting his lord’s pale skin, giving special attention to each mole that sprang in his vision. He stopped at Stiles’ hardened nipples, sucking and biting each lightly in turn, all the while slicking his own cock, waiting for Stiles’ to finally growl out in impatience before lifting up the boy’s thighs and sliding into his impatient lover.

Stiles’ grinned in triumph at the feeling, his nails digging into the gladiator’s back. He threw his head back at the feel of it, before dropping his sweaty brow onto Derek’s shoulder. When the sounds of Derek’s harsh breathing reached him he allowed the tunic to fall from his lips, feeling in control, feeling powerful. Derek, who breathed easy in the midst of battle, sounded ragged and broken above him now. Only Stiles’ could make this man sound so.

Stiles’ turned his head and nibbled on Derek’s earlobe, causing the man to shiver violently, before whispering, “Why don’t you howl now?”

Derek shuddered to a stop at the words, and for a moment Stiles was confused. Before the lord had the chance to inquire what was wrong, Derek grabbed a hold of Stiles’ shoulders began to fuck up into Stiles’ with force, causing his breath to come up short as the soldier stared into his eyes.

"If you want someone to howl, I’m more than happy to oblige," Derek whispered, leaning to lip at Stiles’ neck. "But you’re going to regret it when your father comes in."

"Derek!" Stiles barked out, only to cover his mouth once more. "Derek," he muttered through his fingers, "not so rough, stop it!"

Derek, ever the faithful soldier, did slow down, but not without looking straight into Stiles’ eyes and saying, “I am not a dog for you to command, Lordling. I am your warrior, I am your blade, but I am not your pet.”

+++

Derek looked fiercely ahead, not willing to give in an inch. His eyes blazed bright blue, shining out of the darkness. He would not submit. The moon filled his veins and his head clouded with power.

"Derek… Derek, are you okay?"

Stiles’ voice pulled Derek back, and he felt his claws receding, his fangs turning once more to blunt, human teeth. How had he let himself so far gone? Was he really so weak, that the full moon could effect him so?

"I’m sorry, my lord, I did not mean-" Derek bit off his words, feeling foolish and guilty. He glanced to the side, unable to meet Stiles’ teary eyes. "The full moon, it sometimes- it sometimes plays with my head. I did not mean to-"

"To be so cruel?" Stiles took Derek’s chin in his hand, forcing their gazes to connect, his eyes hard as flint. "Because, gladiator, I will not except such things in my bed, much less my household. I am your lord, understand?"

"Yes…" Derek swept his head forward, kissing Stiles’ neck. "I’m sorry, my lord, I’m sorry. I never meant to be so rough…" He began peppering kisses along Stiles’ collarbones, his shoulders, nearly whining at his mate’s- his lord’s discomfort.

Stiles calmed down, his muscles turning once more lax. He allowed for Derek’s gentle intimacies for a few moments before asking, “Why did your eyes shine blue?”

Derek froze in place.

"Is it.." Stiles hesitated for a moment, seeming to try to find the right words. "Does it have something to do with why you healed so fast? Why the moon made you act so? Why you returned that wolf’s howl…?"

Derek closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to his young lover’s chest. They had known each less than a moon phase, and yet Stiles already knew too much. Who was Derek to give up his family’s secret, to risk their good name? He was not alone. He had sisters, an uncle, who he must protect. Even if the Gods had thrown them together, could he truly trust Stiles with such things?

Stiles petted the back of Derek’s hair. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me now. I demand your loyalty, and your obedience, but I will not demand your secrets.” He kissed the top of Derek’s head. “Now finish your duty.”

Derek nodded and laid Stiles’ down upon the bed, kissing him gently and moving within him at the sweetest pace he could find, making sure to give the lord nothing but pleasures, whining softly, begging Stiles’ to forgive him, making sure to produce the most harmonious of moans from his lover.

"Next time," Derek panted, rubbing Stiles’ cock as he began to arch his back, "next time we can switch positions…"

And it was that sweet promise that made Stiles’ cry out, finding climax within Derek’s calloused palm.


	6. Chapter 6

+++

Jackson looked pretty smug for a man who just had a slave at his crotch, though that, if Stiles thought on it, was probably why he was so smug.

"Does your father know the manner which you treat your servants?" asked Stiles, his brow twitching. He was loathe to remind himself that Lydia certainly did, and had no trouble with the fact. Why Jackson deserved the love of such a woman, well, only Aphrodite knew.

Jackson chuckled. “My father doesn’t care what I do with my slaves, Stiles. He’s not quite so controlling as your own.” He leaned back. “You see, he trusts me. Thinks me an adult who is capable of my own choices.”

"Ah…" Stiles smiled, his jaw still tense. "I just wonder what he would think of some of your choices concerning the new temple to Mars, is all."

Jackson’s grin slowly faded, turning as stony as a statue... and just as beautiful, though Stiles hated to think it. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, Stilinski. The temple is going just as planned. It will be a great addition to the empire.”

"And will your new summer home also be a great addition?" Stiles went to check for dirt under his nails. "Not far from the temple itself, if rumors are correct. And as for where you’re getting your material…"

"You have no proof of that," Jackson snarled.

"Oh? Don’t I? Do you think Lydia would risk her own neck to keep things from me?" Stiles’ eyes were cold. "No, I think not. You are bribing men to take the city’s marble for your own use, and yet even then some of it is slipping through the cracks and making its way to the market. By this rate the Temple will be nowhere completed on time."

Jackson stood, his chair knocked back. “As I said, you have no proof of your accusations! And I will not sit in my own household and listen to such slander! Leave at once, or I swear to Minerva I will strike you down myse-“

"Silence," came Derek’s cutting voice, though the man did not bother to stand. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Do not speak such words, unless you are prepared to come to blows with me, boy."

Jackson eyed the sword, fear sparking within his eyes. He turned back to Stiles and hissed, “This is how you handle things, Stilinski? Threaten my life to get a quick answer? Bring a mindless killer to do a Senator’s work?”

"Derek would not kill you, Jackson." Stiles stood, smoothing is tunic calmly. "At least not without my say so. Now, I am telling you to pay back for the marble you have taken from the temple to the city. If not, I will have to have a discussion with both Lydia’s parents about revoking your land contract. I wonder how responsible your father will think you then? And your mother… I’ve heard she is a powerful worshiper of the gods. Is that not why your house is smothered with incense?"

Jackson’s jaw twitched as he ground his teeth in silent fury before responding coldly, “Fine. Fine, I will stop.” He pointed a threatening finger. “And you are not to breath a word of my doings, understand?”

Stiles easy smile quickly turned to a haughty scowl. “Jackson, I don’t think you quite get how this goes. I could easily have you arrested for this. I have the witnesses, the testimonies, the paper work. I could crush your reputation like a grape stomped for wine, and oh, I would enjoy it. And the reason I’m not? Do you know?”

Jackson refused to answer.

Stiles scoffed. “Because now you  _owe_  me. Never forget what I have done today, and never forget that it comes with a price. I need no  _soldier_  to threaten you now.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

+++

Isaac didn’t even blink at the bustling city around them, all while Derek was somewhat flabbergasted by it all. The various noises and smells were irritating, and there were far too many people for his liking, but it was a sight to behold. Still, he found himself much preferring Stiles’ estate outside of the city, with plenty of room to breath.

"How are you faring, Derek?" asked Isaac, who wouldn’t stop fidgeting, not daring to look into the man’s eyes.

Derek placed a calming hand on the boy’s shoulder, causing Isaac to start. His voice was steady as he answered, “Fine. I harbor no ill will towards your actions, Isaac. They wouldn’t have let us leave until they thought one of us dead.”

Isaac’s eyes were hallow. “Yes, I know that to be the truth. But I still… I still cannot believe you _are_ alive.”

"The Gods saw fit to heal me, what can I say?" Derek waved a flippant hand. "I am not one to question such things. Now tell me, how do you like your time within Lady Argent’s household? Is she not who you are attending today?" Derek silently noted that Isaac was not wearing armor, but rather a simple servant’s tunic. Odd, for a man of his fighting prowess.

"Lady Argent saw fit to give me to her niece," Isaac admitted with a weak smile. "You should have heard her words after I won. Apparently I’m not exactly what the lady was looking for." He quirked a brow.

Derek returned with a raised brow of his own. “Ah. And how are you liking our little empress to be?” There was no doubt within the city that the man who wished to rule over Rome would have to wed the young lady to make it happen.

"Ah, she is… most accommodating," Isaac answered, looking confused, as if a kindly mistress was the last thing he would expect the Fates to bequeath him.

Scott, who had been away talking to other guards, came upon them and slapped Isaac’s back heartily, startling the boy. “No finer lady graces Rome’s walls! She is as kind as she is brilliant, with a beauty so fair that I’m surprised Venus herself has not cursed her out of jealousy!”

"You speak like a man in love," Isaac muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Of course, as any soldier of Rome is to love the Emperor’s grand daughter, the chief of justice’s daughter, a true lady of the city," Scott rambled back, chuckling nervously. "My words are no kinder than any man under her service."

Derek bit back a retort towards that, knowing that talk of servicing and being under the Lady would not do for such a public setting. So instead he said, “And may the Gods’ blessings always be upon her.”

"Here, here!" exclaimed Scott, beaming once more. "Derek, is it not? I have heard of you from Stiles, but have not had the honor to meet you in person. I am Scott, guard for the Lady Allison, though I’m sure you know that." He raised a hand to shake.

Derek took it with only a little hesitation, surprised at such a warm welcome. Did Scott not know he was a gladiator? No, Lady Allison had attended gladiator events, and as her guard Scott would have accompanied her. But his words did not ring false, and he smelled only of excitement, no fear or distrust permeating the air.

"I’ve heard many things of you too," Derek admitted, shaking Scott’s hand.

"All good things, I would hope!"

Derek smiled. “Nothing but kind words from my Lord upon you, I can assure you of that.”

"And how is your lord?" Isaac cut in, his smile mischievous. "Doing well, I should hope. From what I’ve heard in his conversations with Scott-"

"Private conversations!" Scott cut in, glaring. "And to be honest, conversations I’d rather not hear of my friend…"

"Perhaps this talk is best suited to a more private setting," Derek said, voice low. He was no boy on the cusp of manhood so he did not blush, but still he felt embarrassed. His private affairs had always been that, private. He was not a man to boast or brag of victories in bed.

"Not that I have anything to add to such conversations," Isaac admitted, shrugging.

Scott grinned and clasped a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “My friend, I shall see to it personally that that will not be the case for very long!”

Isaa, despite all his bold words, _was_ on the brink of manhood, and could not contain his blush at such sentiments.


	8. Chapter 8

+++

Stiles’ snuggled up close to Derek, sweaty and sated, the silk sheets thrown over their hips haphazardly. He couldn’t stop smiling, and though Derek would like to think that a testimony of his sexual prowess he knew it was for another reason all together.

"Celebratory sex is the best sex," Stiles decided, his cheek resting on Derek’s chest. "And Jackson said my father didn’t trust me… shows what he knows!"

"I celebrate your victory as if it was my own," Derek commented dryly, the back of his head resting on the palm of his hands and his eyes closed.

"Oh, no need to return my excitement with sass, Derek. This could mean big things for our future!" Stiles ran an idle finger against the man’s stomach. "Connections can be made, a reputation can be sealed. A seat in the senate will be mine, and from there I will only gain power."

"I have no doubt." This time Derek was sincere, though he still couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. He was tired after a hard night’s work. "And are you not worried for your father’s safety?"

Stiles waved a flippant hand. “Oh, he’ll be fine. He’s a general, not a mere foot soldier.”

Derek hesitated a moment before opening an eye. “Perhaps I could accompany him to the battle, if that is your wish-“

"No!" Stiles shouted, suddenly sitting up. He hovered over Derek’s surprised form, grabbing one of the man’s shoulders. "No, you absolutely cannot go into battle! You are to stay here, with me, understand?"

"Yes, of course," Derek muttered, his eyes clouding with confusion. "Your command is my law, Lordling. Have no fear of that."

Stiles looked away ashamed, his hands shaking. “I- I did not mean to shout.”

Derek sat up as well, slowly reaching out to rub his young lover’s arm. “Are you alright?”

"Fine, fine, it’s just- it’s just overwhelming, so much responsibility handed to me." Stiles rested his forehead on Derek’s shoulder. "Scott is always busy now, and I just- I could not imagining you leaving me as well."

Derek had had no idea that the boy was so nervous of his new position, for the lord had seemed all confidence and easy smiles when he had delivered the news. But Derek supposed that most men had masks to wear, and Stiles was no exception. He gathered the young man in his lap, kissing his neck softly.

"I promise," the soldier said gently. "I will never leave without your direct order."

Stiles relaxed into his hold.


	9. Chapter 9

+++

"Sti- My Lord!!" called out Derek, rushing after the boy, catching his arm. "My Lord, you cannot leave the meeting!"

Stiles wrenched his arm away, refusing to meet Derek’s eyes, his face flushed red. “H-How dare they say such things to me!” His voice quivered with rage, his hands clenched into fists. “And you, how dare you try to stop me from leaving!”

Derek huffed and pulled Stiles towards an empty room, a small chamber where councils would meet. He pushed his lord gently towards the wall, his hands bracketing pale arms. He stared straight into Stiles’ face, though the young man still refused to meet his eye, and Derek's voice was stern as he said, “Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

Stiles finally faced him, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Don’t give them the satisfaction of making you leave," Derek continued, his grip tight. "You believed in what you said, and for this time you are their equal. You have much a right to speak of your cause as any of the rest of them."

Stiles glowered, his face still flushed. “They have no respect for me! They called me- they called me a boy…”

Derek released him, taking a step back, his cape swaying behind him. “Then shall you prove them right? Shall your tuck your tail between your legs, run off yelping back to your comfortable manor?”

Stiles strode forward, shoving his face towards Derek’s “Don’t speak to me in such a way!”

"Then don’t act in such a way!" Derek barked back.

Stiles flinched back.

Derek sighed, rubbing his eyes. It would do neither of them good to have a fight. “Look lordling, I believe in your intelligence more than any man. I would die for the cause you supported. I am not your enemy. Have I not made that clear?”

"Of course you have," Stiles agreed angrily, "but that still doesn’t give you the right to speak to me in such a way!"

"You forget that I was once a man of family too. My words are not spoken from a commoner’s experience, though even the lowest of slaves could see that I speak the truth. Those men wished to push you to leave, and you’ve given them the satisfaction of doing so. Can you not see the sense in that?"

"But if they do not respect me, how am I ever to accomplish anything? My task will be as the boulder of Sisyphus, forever melting before I reach my goal!"

Derek sighed and took hold of his young lover’s face, dropping a sweet kiss on stubborn, pink lips. “Then do as you did with me,” he whispered, staring into heavy lidded eyes. “Show them the man you are. Make them respect you.”

+++

"A child has no say in matters of war," declared Lord Whittemore, as ever arrogant as his son. "We have no time to explain such mechanics to a boy not yet in his beard."

Which was particularly vexing to hear from a man with a smooth chin himself. And no man wanted to see Stiles attempt facial hair. The first time he had tried had been his last, and Lydia wouldn’t meet his gaze for a week without breaking out into laughter.

"I assure you I have been trained by the very best," Stiles continued to argue. "I was but a babe when my father spoke of the art of war, and have read numerous texts-"

Whittemore slammed his fist. “Texts are nothing in the face of battle!”

"And you know so much about battle?" asked Deaton, as calm and collected as ever. "Whittemore, I haven’t seen you raise a blade since our adolescence. You have as much to boast of as the boy."

Lord Whittemore grew white with rage, stuttering in the back of his throat as a retort failed to come to him.

"Now, now," said Lady Whittemore, her voice amused. She placed a calming hand over her husband’s fist. "Stiles has always been clever. Allow the boy to talk. Perhaps a new perspective is what we need for this long battle. Perhaps his choices will show to be sound."

"He had choice aplenty with his guard," came another voice, lost within the crowd.

A low murmur hummed throughout the room at such a statement.

Stiles opened his mouth only to have his words crack, the blood rushing to his face.

"Derek Hale," came another voice, smooth and hard as steel, "is one of the finest warriors I have trained."

Everyone turned to Lord Christopher Argent, head of the royal guard, Keeper of Peace, and son of the Emperor. He was leaned back in his seat, his hands crossed in front of him, his brow heavy.

"That does not dismiss his sentence," pointed out his wife, Lady Victoria. "Or do you say your sister’s witness is not proof enough?"

Argent shrugged. “I only say that our laws banished him to the gladiator ring, and the Gods saw fit to have him live. I only say that our laws allowed Stiles to buy him, and so thus he is in the boy’s service. And I only say that I care not for a man’s past, but for what path he allows the Fates to take him.”

Everyone was quiet now, listening intently, eyes curious.

"Now," continued Argent smoothly, "I would like to see what the boy has to say of the battles to come. If he is ignorant, he shall prove it with his words, not his youth."

+++

"If you are through with trying to ruin the mood," said Stiles sulkily, "then I would like to put an offer upon the table, seeing as your advice actually did me good today."

"What sort of offer, lordling?" Derek asked with an easy going smile. The pet name was something that Stiles was adamant that he merely tolerated, but Derek could smell the contentment it gave the young man. It seemed that in the end he enjoyed such sentiments, just as much as Derek enjoyed the sense of power it gave him.

"Well…" And now Stiles was all coyness, glancing up from beneath his dark eyelashes, and his hands moved further down Derek’s body, rubbing against the man’s hard cock tenting his loincloth. "I was thinking, for once, I could take care of you…"

Derek eyes glazed over with what a pretty picture that would make. “Well, how could I say no to a request from my lord?”

Stiles, completely naked because it was far easier to remove a toga than a suit of armor (and Derek was not entirely convinced the lord didn’t prefer it that way), grinned wickedly before sliding downwards until he faced Derek’s erection. He pulled back the loincloth, allowing the cock to spring free, and immediately took the opportunity to lick a long, hot stripe along its length.

Derek clenched his teeth and hissed with pleasure. It was the first time Stiles had ever taken the initiative to do this, usually wanting to be given pleasure rather than give it in return. It was very promising that he was now interested in being a more active lover in their relationship. It opened far more possibilities for both.

Stiles, a quick study if there ever was one, began to take the length of Derek’s cock in his mouth and bob up and down shallowly. He seemed almost surprised by its length and thickness, and more than once had to stop from taking it too deeply, his eyebrows crinkling in frustration.

Derek would have loved to give instruction, but the sight of his lord eagerly sucking his cock was too much to allow for much coherent thought. Still, he managed to give some advice. “Tongue the tip, that’s where I’m most sensitive.”

Stiles, who had never known what excessive was, began to do so immediately with such tantalizing kitten licks, a soft, pink tongue sticking out of such soft, pink lips, that Derek was reduced to gruff moaning, his hand grabbing hold of the back of Stiles’ head. But he did not push Stiles’ forward, as he wanted to do, and his hips remained as steadfast as a soldier about to face battle. This was all about Stiles learning what he could do to make Derek feel good. But Derek felt it would be soon that Stiles would welcome a soft shove or a snap of hips, if any of their other bedroom behavior was any indication.

Stiles began to rub Derek’s cock as he tongued the tip of it, and the movement was so tantalizingly sweet that all it took was one glance upwards, the lord’s brow sweaty and his breath ragged, to get Derek to come suddenly. To his surprise Stiles did not pull away. He allowed his face to be covered in the sticky substance, opening his mouth to the final spurt and licking his lips afterwards.

Derek looked down to his naked lover, panting, sweat sheeting his skin, his pink face covered in Derek’s white cum, and thought that the lord had never looked more beautiful.


	10. Chapter 10

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


+++

"Allison, what happened? Where is Scott’s horse?" Stiles cried out, dismounting from his own steed. He had only just found his friends after rushing through the forest alone, taking no heed of Derek’s warning. He wasn’t going to sit around while there was danger afoot.

Scott was leaning against the trunk of a tree and clutching his bloody side, a wince making his jaw even more uneven. Allison was, as she was prone to be, stoic in the face of danger, her teeth clenched and eyes hard. She was currently ripping off a lengthy portion of her own tunic in order to make wrappings for Scott.

"What happened?" Stiles rushed forward, taking in Scott’s wound- a bite. "No boar did that!"

"It was a beast I had never seen before," Allison muttered as she began to wrap Scott’s stomach tightly, causing the poor boy to grunt. "Huge, with red eyes, almost intelligent. It went after me and Scott tried to fight it off." Her eyes were fierce. "It’s lucky it only got one of my arrows for its insolence. Should it dare face me again, I will leave with nothing short of its life." Never was Stiles more reminded that Allison, for all her dimpled smiles and soft tones, was a true daughter of Artemis, and grand daughter of the mighty Emperor himself.

"Where is Derek?" Stiles asked, casting his gaze wildly about. "Where is my soldier?"

Allison and Scott glanced at each other, their faces grim, before turning back to Stiles.

"He saved us," Scott admitted, pointing behind them. "Last I saw he was in battle with the beast-"

Not a word more was spoken before Stiles ran to his horse to mount, galloping into the forest without a moment’s hesitation. He raced along the path, wishing that he had the tracking skills that Allison had learned from her father. But even he could see the horse tracks running along the forest floor, and soon came upon the former scene of battle.

Derek was lying on the ground, panting. Bloody wounds lay across his skin like a battle map, slowly knitting together and healing, and Stiles could almost swear he saw bone along the man’s ribs. The soldier’s eyes were once more blue, bright blue, shining like a god or a beast, Stiles did not know. But that Stiles had already seen, in another time, in another place. Those aspects of Derek’s appearance had not given him pause.

Within Derek’s mouth was a set of terrible fangs, and protruding from each finger was a yellowed, sharp claw. His brow was malformed, protruding, and hair covered the sides of his face in great tufts. There was no getting around to what Derek looked like.

A monster.

+++

+++

"I can’t just leave Allison!” Scott argued, his hands waving madly. “She’s in more danger than ever, I can’t leave her now!”

"You’re no use to her dead," Derek growled out before Stiles could even open his mouth. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wondering why he was the one who had to deal with bratty newly turned werewolves. "And trust me, the moment the Argents find out what you are? You’re dead."

"I don’t even know if I will turn into a wolf beast! Just because my bite healed a bit quickly-"

"Scott," Stiles reasoned, his voice stern, "it healed overnight. And you’ve already had other symptoms, remember? Enhanced hearing, strange vision-"

"So what? That means I’m a monster?" Scott’s breaths were becoming labored. "I can’t be with her again? Just because some creature cursed me?" He began to transform, his brow furrowing, his fangs growing, his eyes glowing bright yellow. "Just because I protected what I love most in this world?!"

Derek snarled as he surged forward, allowing himself to shift, pushing Scott up against the wall. “Look at yourself!” he bellowed, his face terrible with rage. “Look at your face!”

Scott trembled as he turned his gaze towards the looking glass hung on the wall. There was no denying what was before him. Stiles stood there, eyes wide and face ashen, as he took in the sight of their monstrous forms.

"And it won’t only be anger that triggers it," Derek warned, letting go of Scott and walking backwards. "The moon will fill you with such rage and want that you won’t even know yourself. If you don’t come with me, I can’t tell who you might hurt. Who you might kill."

"But you can learn to control it!" Stiles walked forward, hesitating before his friend. "Derek said that there’s a way to control it, to become stronger from it. You just have to trust him to teach you."

Perhaps, Derek couldn’t help but think, Scott should be sent to Laura. She was always a leader, an alpha in the making. She could train him far better than he. But no, he would not risk her and Cora’s safety. He dared not give the Argents any reason to visit the only family he had left. He didn’t know what they would do, given the opportunity…

"How long?" Scott asked, glaring down at his claws. "How long before I can control this?"

Derek shrugged, ignoring Stiles worried look. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever heard of the Bite from legends. It’s different from us who were born of the wolf. You’ll just have to have patience and see.”

"And she’ll be safe from me? You’ll keep me away from her, when I’m like this?"

Derek nodded. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Stiles smile was over bright as he added, “And hey, I’ll be there too. I’m sure I can grab a leash or something…”

Both Derek and Scott groaned at that.


	11. Chapter 11

+++

When Lady Reyes came it was with fanfare deserving of the amazon she must truly be, for no mere woman could have that sharp of a smile and such a blazing heat in her eyes. If Allison was Artemis then this woman was Athena, looking like she would be at home at the battlefield, blood streaked across her white skin, blonde curls caked in mud, and still a beauty. Her lips were stained crimson, hopefully with paints rather than the blood of her enemies.

Stiles bowed graciously. “Lady Reyes, welcome to my household,” he told her, humble as can be. “Please, make yourself welcome.”

Lady Reyes’ eyes widened at him, but her smirk did not falter. “My, I never knew the young lord was so gracious. Your father warned me you would be a little brat.”

Stiles eyebrow twitched at the teasing, but he only replied, “Do you wish to join me for dinner? Or would you like to make yourself acquainted with your room? I can have something brought up.”

She waved a hand. “I’m hungry enough for a legion. Take me to the feast!”

Stiles was used to femme fatals of all forms, so he simply nodded and led her to the dining chambers, allowing her to sit at his side at the head of the table. Platters had already been prepared, and the room was empty but for the two of them, the servants asked to wait outside. Before Stiles could offer anything, Derek and Scott entered the room.

Suddenly Lady Reyes shoulders were stiff, though her look merely held curiosity. “I did not know you employed those of my kind, young lord.”

Stiles wrinkled his brow; though Derek’s tattoo spoke of northern heritage, he had never known Scott to have a drop of northern blood. That was, of course, until Erica’s eyes flashed the ruby red of her lips, and then suddenly Stiles understood. Derek had been teaching him and Scott the ways of wolves, and red eyes showed the signs of the most powerful among them; alphas.

Derek’s frown tightened, and his eyes flashed blue in challenge. Scott, sensing the tension in his comrade, changed his own gaze to bright yellow. Stiles stood up and glared at the both of them.

"No challenging household guests!" he reprimanded, ignoring his growing panic that he now was hosting three werewolves. "Lady Reyes is under my family’s protection, and I won’t sully my father’s good name by being rude to her."

Lady Reyes herself gave a tinkling laugh. “My, you truly have nerve, don’t you young lord?” She relaxed into her seat, like a taunt rope being let go, and addressed Derek and Scott. “Have no fear, pups. Senator Stilinski is a friend of my people, and I will not harm those within his house.”

Derek walked slowly forward to take a seat, Scott hesitatingly following his lead. The man still did not look at ease, however. “I knew that we had kin in the north, but none by the name of Reyes.”

"My mother gave me her power, but not her family name," she confessed easily. "My alpha status also comes from her."

"I’m sorry for you loss," Derek muttered, bowing his head.

Stiles shot Scott a look, only to be met by a shrug. Apparently alpha status could only be given by death? Derek had so much more to tell them.

"And I am sorry for the loss of your clan," Lady Reyes replied with a solemn nod of her own. "I must make a point to visit the others of your family while I am here. Perhaps, in a time of peace in the North, they may wish to join with our clan."

Stiles felt his chest clutch, and quickly looked to Derek, the man’s face impassive. His gladiator wouldn’t leave, would he? No, not Stiles’ sword and shield. But to ask Derek to not reunite with the only family he had left… no, Stiles would not be so cruel.

Derek nodded. “Perhaps. But that is their decision, and not one I will take part of, should they choose to leave. The gods have plans for me in Rome.”

Stiles breathed out softly in relief.

Lady Reyes raised a brow. “I see. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve been dying to eat.” She began to pluck food onto her plate, not caring for etiquette or procedure. “And while I am here I am your comrade, not your lady. Call me Erica.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All caught up with Tumblr! Cofie is having computer troubles atm, but she is gearing up for the next update! Expect it, well sometime ^^ I'll write as soon as she's ready!


	12. Chapter 12

+++

"Are you sure of this?" whispered Derek from his steed. He knew that Erica, despite being further back in the party, would still be able to hear though his words were directed to Stiles. Still, there had not been a moment to spare before the lord had demanded a travel party to be made up.

"Were you not the one to suggest the Boyd family?" asked Stiles with a raised brow from his own horse. "I have heard of their loyalty, surely, but I am not the one who suggested that they keep Erica."

Derek shook his head. “I have no doubts to their loyalty. There is a reason the empire trusts them with its commerce. And it is true that their household is further within the country, hidden away from many. Not only that, they employ a large number of soldiers, but… I do not know if they will accept Erica into their fold.”

"Do they know about…?" Stiles trailed off, shifting his eyes to the men near them. They should be out of hearing range, but obviously Stiles was not about to speak aloud of such things as werewolves.

"No. Our families were allies, but not that close." Derek shrugged. "I have no doubt that Erica can keep her secret safe, but for all of that she is not a true citizen of Rome. Her tribe is an ally, but because of Kali they have been severely decimated. I’m not sure if the emperor would sign a direct order for the Boyds to protect Erica."

"My father would," Stiles decided without hesitation. "And as a senator, I am able to speak on my father’s behalf."

"But not without the senate’s approval," Derek warned. "Your father holds enough respect that he may be able to ask the Boyds this favor, but you will have more trouble."

"Well we shall see to that when we get there," Stiles said stubbornly, his jaw clenching in annoyance. His eyes faltered though, glancing downwards. "Are you not worried for yourself and Scott though? Kali may request you to join her pack as well."

Derek snorted. “She only cares for alphas, and females at that. Her pack mainly consists of those who are both. Erica told me that she was very upset when her mother refused to join. I do not know what lengths Kali will go to get Erica.”

"Well let us hope that the Boyds will listen to reason then." Stiles glanced back to Erica and Scott, riding side by side and murmuring quietly to each other. "I told my father I would protect her, and I will do everything within my power to keep that promise. Kali nor Jennifer will keep me from it."

"Of that I have little doubt, Lordling."

+++

The Boyds were an impressive family who showed little emotion. They took their position as the head of commerce seriously, and their prestige was known throughout Rome. Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little daunted as he stood in their doorway, an on-the-run Northern princess at his side.

"So you are asking us to take her in?" asked Lord Boyd, the master of the household. His dry voice betrayed no emotion.

"For the good of Rome’s allies," answered Stiles, trying to keep his voice proud and steady. "My father has asked towards her absolute protection. It’s in his name I ask you this favor."

"And Stilinski's soldiers cannot protect her?" asked Lady Boyd with a frown of fierce disapproval, standing by her husband’s side. "We have our own lot to protect."

"Please, if you would be hear me out." Stiles spread open his hands. "She has already been discovered on my lands, and her position there is known. Here she may be able to take solitude. We came with but my most trusted of men, riding all day to your household. Please, at least consider my offer for the night!"

"Father," said the young Lord Boyd, his age close to Stiles’ own, "they have been journeying all day. We could at least offer him to stay the night, now that the sun is so low."

Stiles sent the young Boyd a grateful smile, which was not returned.

Lord Boyd nodded firmly. “I will allow my son’s request, Stilinski, and sleep upon this matter. Tomorrow I will tell you my decision.”

"Thank you." It was Erica who spoke, and her smile was soft. "My people will not forget you, if you do offer me safety."

Lady Boyd gestured her servants forward. “Take Lady Reyes and Lord Stilinski to our guest chambers. His soldiers may sleep with our own.”

"If you will, I must speak to my guard." Stiles gestured towards Derek. "We must discuss tomorrow’s journey."

Lady Boyd nodded. “Send for a servant when you are done, and he will be lead to the barracks.”

+++


	13. Chapter 13

  


 +++

"Lady Hale," Stiles said with a slight bow, befitting one of his own station.

Her smile was full of easy grace. “My, I do know that it is not every day that one talks to ghosts.”

Stiles found himself smiling back. All of Rome thought both of Derek’s sisters to be dead, though Derek had confided in Stiles that they were simply at their uncle’s estate, hiding from the eyes of the emperor. The family resemblance between the three beautiful Hales was undeniable, though both Laura's and Cora’s hair was lighter.

"But on to more pressing issues," Laura continued, walking towards the fireplace with her hands clasped behind her, staring into the flames with hard eyes. "It seems that our dear uncle has gotten himself into alpha status, and with that a madness of power." She turned towards them, the shadows of the dark room casting her face in golden tones. "He has made it his life mission to kill the Argents."

Derek’s mouth went slack in horror. “But… he surely cannot be so foolish! A lone alpha against Rome’s nobility? And how did he even come across such power?”

"I do not know…" Laura’s eyes cast downward, her sadness unmistakable to even Stiles’ casual observation.

"You must tell him," cut in Cora, her fists clenched. "You must tell Derek the truth, Laura."

"What truth?" Derek stared between his sisters, his brow crinkling. "Laura, of what does Cora speak?"

Suddenly Stiles felt very out of place in such an intimate setting, and almost excused himself to leave. But no, Derek was his in more than contract. He could not miss the opportunity to be a part of the soldier’s life.

Laura turned back to the fire. “He tried to kill me and take my alpha status.”

Derek’s growl was immediate and fierce. “His life would have paid forfeit, had he succeeded in such a task.”

Stiles had no doubt in Derek’s words.

"We’ve been in hiding since the incident, staying with friends of our cause," Cora continued, her hand resting lightly on her brother’s shoulder. "We have even found a Senator to support us. I’m sure you have heard news of it?"

Derek nodded. “The Children of Romulus. I see that the threat of the North is upon us, but I do not know why you two are chasing such legends, at least in the eyes of the Roman people.”

Stiles knew that few citizens regarded the Romulus soldiers who battled against the North as truth, most saying it was glorified accounts of a much simpler battle turned to bloodshed. Only those who knew of werewolves held the truth of it, and those were precious few. Derek still had not told Stiles who else knew of such secrets.

"Legends are created for a reason," Laura said mildly, her back still turned. "Our ancestor died for our citizenship. If we were to recreate such a spectacle, well, all of Rome would be indebted to us." Her hands tightened. "And there would be nothing the emperor could say to not give our family full honors for the victory, and honors to our cousins who join us."

"Pardon me," said Stiles, pausing as Laura turned to gaze upon him. Her eyes held a majesty that no title could give her, and it filled him with awe to be in such a presence. "Pardon me," he started once more, "but why are you and your sister claiming to be dead, only to reveal yourselves in battle?"

Her smile was small but genuine. “What a smart one you have found yourself, Derek,” she murmured before answering. “My family has died at the hands of the Argents, so legend is all we may have left to protect us. To kill a hero would be foolish, but to kill a weapon? Gerard would never consider it. If we prove ourselves the only defense against the North, we prove that we are worthy enough to live. And, should I come out of hiding, that is not the only thing which I will prove…” She looked towards Derek.

Stiles glanced between them. “Derek? What does she mean?”

Derek stared back at his sister somberly. “She means that her being alive would clear me of my charges. Kate claimed I murdered my family to inherit their fortune, but I knew that Laura and Cora would be out. Since Laura would inherit the estate, Kate’s argument has too great a flaw to hold even in the most unjust court.”

Stiles felt his veins run cold at the thought. Yes, Derek would receive his name, his guilt would be cleared, but at a great cost to Stiles... even though he had promised his father so long ago to do just that. Derek would be a noble, and as such he would be Stiles equal. No longer a mere soldier, a mere servant. No longer someone Stiles could keep in his bed, least he insult the Martins as Lydia’s fiancee. Society would dictate that their love affair must come to an end, that they both marry ladies of standing and continue their household names.

"Oh," was all that Stiles said, refusing to look Derek in the eye. He knew that werewolves could hear an untruth within the ticking of a heart, and did not trust himself not to lie.

 +++

 +++

"But before that, will you allow me to speak to my brother alone, Lord Stilinski?" Laura asked with another gentle smile.

"Ah- of course…" Stiles looked between the two siblings, obviously curious. "Shall I just leave then?"

"If you would escort Cora to your guest chambers?" Laura asked.

"What? But Laura!" Cora began to protest.

Laura held up a silencing hand, her smile turning hard and her eyes flashing red. “Do not fight me on this, Cora.”

With a huff befitting a Hale, Cora allowed Stiles to walk her out of the room, making sure to glare back at her alpha and sister before stalking out of the entryway.

Derek hadn’t taken his eyes off Laura since her request. “What do you need to speak to me that Sti- Lord Stilinski could not hear?”

Laura sighed wearily. “Did you expect me to _not_ to notice how your scents are all over each other?”

Derek stiffened. “Of all people, I would never expect you to judge me on my bed partners, Laura.” There was no use denying it. Laura would discover any lie he gave her.

"I am not judging, merely worried," she explained, stepping forward with a look of concern. "Do you truly expect this arrangement to last?"

"There is no dishonor in being a servant," Derek retorted with a clenched jaw. "I am a soldier of Rome, same as before. Simply because another man is my master under the law-"

"And what about not under the law?" Laura raised a brow as she walked forward a few more feet, stopping close to her brother, gently clasping his necklace’s pendant in her hand. "No longer wearing the triskelion of our ancestors, Derek?"

He scowled down at her. “It is burned upon my back.”

"Yes, but this… Apollo’s symbol, is it not? A gift from your lord, perhaps?" She looked upwards, her gaze as steely as Derek’s blade. "Do not think I have forgotten the prophecy you were given so long ago."

He stepped backwards and began pacing the room, casting agitated glances at his sister. “What is it to you what I wear? What I am? Who I _bed_?” He said the last word with disdain. “I am my own man, Laura. You may be my alpha, but you are not-“

"I am your sister." Laura said this with all the ferocity of a shout, despite keeping her voice leveled. "And I love you enough to remind you of your position. I cannot reclaim our family’s glory without cleansing your name, and when you are once more Lord Hale, there shall be no place in our society for your current interactions with the young Lord Stilinski." Her eyes grew suddenly sad. "For all that he seems sweet, and for all that he has been loyal to our secret… And for all that, despite how you dance around it, you may be growing to love him."

Derek fled the room with angry footsteps, not daring to look back.


	14. Chapter 14

 

+++

Stiles was silent the entire way back to his household, and though Derek was usually not one to fret he could not help but worry after his Lordling. He had known that the bond between the Stilinski father and son was strong, their connection ever tightening with the death of Lady Stilinski, or so Stiles had whispered in their more intimate moments, lying in each others arms in bed. The boy’s earlier words echoed in Derek’s mind.

_You should have gone with him._

But Derek was a soldier, a slave, and he did not dare speak of such things until they arrived at the manor, until the two of them were alone in Stiles’ study, the boy rushing to his desk and pulling out maps to spread open.

"There was no shame, asking me to stay," Derek began, his cloak still on his shoulders.

Stiles looked sharply upwards but for a moment, his defiant scowl showing obvious disbelief in Derek’s words.

"It’s true," Derek continued, coming up to the desk and glancing down out the map. The Northern provinces… "Your father would not have allowed it, in any case. He would have wanted me here, protecting you."

Stiles refused to look up now, his eyes scanning the map in quick darts, his mouth still set in a mulish frown.

"Lordling… Stiles, please." Derek reached his hand forward, cupping Stiles’ chin and forcing him to look up. There were still tears glistening in the corner of those amber eyes. "Talk to me," Derek pleaded, hating this angry silence most of all.

Stiles was quiet for yet a few more moments, his gaze cast away from Derek’s face, before quietly saying, “Within reason I know that you would not have saved my father. The chances of you being near him at exactly the right time, the secrecy you must maintain which holds back the force necessary to defeat such overwhelming odds…” He looked up at Derek again, his chin quivering. “But still, I cannot help but blame myself. Surely you must understand that.”

Derek released Stiles then, taking a step back as if struck, clenching his hand to his chest. “Of course I do. You know this.”

For in those whispered conferences he had also learned to trust Stiles with such secrets. Knowledge of Kate’s seduction, and ultimately her betrayal. Indeed, there seemed to be little unknown between them now.

"I’m not going to cry about my own cowardice!" Stiles rubbed his eyes with angry motions. "I’m going to save my father, or recover his body for burial rights. Either way he will return to Rome, if I have to drag his corpse myself!"

Derek’s eyes widened. “You’re not seriously considering going after him?” He felt himself getting angry now. “You’ll be a babe amidst a pack of wolves! You have no training, no knowledge of the battle field. You’ll be killed within a day!”

Stiles’ look as he regarded Derek was filled with a haughtiness that was going to get him killed, his cheeks still red and tear stained. “I am no babe, Derek. I am a Lord of Rome, and I am a force to be reckoned with. Never forget that.”

But all Derek could think of now was how fragile Stiles’ soft skin was, how easily bruised, how easily cut. His bones would be so slow to mend if broken, his flesh would scar. How easy would it be for Stiles to die? Far too easy for Derek to let the young lord tempt fate.

Derek stood there idly as Stiles scrambled to collect maps, the man at a loss of what to say. He could not command his lord in any sense of the word. Refusing to attend to Stiles on his journey was not an option, for if there was one sliver of hope that the boy would end the journey alive, it was in Derek’s abilities. What was he to do?

Just then Scott rushed through the door, running to his friend, embracing him immediately. It was obvious the soldier had heard the news.

"I’m so sorry," Scott murmured, and then released Stiles’, his hands still clasped on the lord’s arms. "I’m sure he’s okay, Stiles. He’s probably a prisoner of war, he’s far too important to merely kill. I’m sure we’ll hear of his ransom soon."

"I’m not taking that chance," Stiles declared, shrugging out of his friend’s gasp to continue his packing. "I’m going to find my father, and I’m leaving tonight."

With raise brow, Scott turned to Derek who merely shrugged.

"Surely you cannot mean this," Scott replied, his tone calm and reasonable. "The Emperor would never allow it."

"Damn the Emperor!" Stiles slammed a tomb onto his desk, his face flushing with anger. "I will leave, by his will or no. I have my own soldiers, my own funds. He cannot hold me from leaving!"

Scott showed his palms in a calming gesture. “Yes, but be reasonable here, Stiles. You could sully your family name in such defiance. And have you not your father’s responsibilities in the senate?”

Stiles was deflating, his armor of anger being chipped piece by piece by his friend’s logic. Still, he answered, “With my father’s return I will receive a hero’s welcome. And the senate seats are filled with enough men. They will continue without me.”

Scott took a step forward, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Are you sure of that?” When Stiles didn’t answer, Scott continued, “And what of your father’s wishes? Would he want you to leave, to almost certain death?”

"My father would do the same for me!"

"Yes, but would you wish him too?" Again, no answer from the lord. "Remember when, but a few years ago, I claimed I would find my father and kill him for what he did to my family? Do you remember what you said?"

For the first time that night, Stiles smiled, though it was weak. “I said it was better to live your life so greatly that he would feel sorrow that he had let go of such a son.”

"Yes, and probably saved me from the gladiator’s ring." Here Scott gave Derek an apologetic smile, as if to say there was no shame in that, and Derek simply returned it with a nod of understanding, wishing Scott to continue whatever in the Underworld he was doing to calm Stiles down. "Your father would rather you do your best here, within Rome, within your power. Imagine if he  _is_ ransomed, and returns to your funeral. Do you think he would last much longer without you?”

Stiles looked close to tears again, his fists clenched. “But to sit here, to do nothing…”

"You won’t be doing nothing," Scott argued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Our armies are losing, and we need strategists to lead our movements more than ever. The tide of battle depends on the senate’s actions, more than ever now."

Stiles huffed, but Derek could tell he had been persuaded. “I suppose you speak true. I will not search for my father, not tonight at least…” He gave a shaky laugh, sinking uneasily down into his chair. “Just… Can I have a moment alone now, Scott? I really just want to be alone.”

Scott, still looking concerned, nodded softly. “Of course.” Once more he clasped his friend’s shoulder. “Do not hesitate to call for me, no matter what hour of the night.”

Stiles placed his hand atop Scott’s, his smile weak. “Thank you, my friend. I will.”

As Scott walked out of the room Derek turned to leave as well, but stopped when Stiles said, “Not you, Derek.”

Derek looked back at the young lord’s slight frame, hidden in shadows as Helios sank his chariot into the horizon. The boy looked so young sitting there, so broken. Derek’s heart lurched at the sight.

"I’d rather not have you leave," Stiles admitted, his voice small.

Derek was powerless to do anything but obey.

+++

Stiles mind had hummed with a dangerous frenzy as soon as he had heard of his father’s fate. The only thing that had kept him from breaking down completely, the only way he could hold through his anguish with mere angry tears, had simply been his conviction that he was going to find him. He was going to find his father and bring him home, and that one thought, that one pledge, had kept him together for these past hours.

But now… now he did not have that to hold onto. His world was collapsing around him. A dark haze was cast over his vision, and he felt his breaths turn shaky, his lungs constrict, and he couldn’t seem to get air past his throats, choking on the very idea of his father’s death.

"Stiles?" Came a muffled voice from besides him, a worried hand gasping his shoulder. "Stiles, are you okay?"

He wanted to speak, but the words stuck in his throat like a poisonous barb. His lips moved but no sound was produced, and he moved his teary gaze to Derek, the man looking panicked. Stiles hands were shaking, and he spread them forward, imploring Derek to do something, to help him get over this.

Those shaking hands were clasped in strong ones, large ones, calloused but not scarred, tanned by the warm sun. Hands which had touched him so gently, so often, before. Derek’s hands, clasped tightly to Stiles’ as he stared into the lord’s eyes.

"What am I suppose to do?" asked Derek, looking ready to cry himself. "Can you breath?"

Stiles shook his head no, his chest constricting as he fought for control.

Derek slowly released Stiles’ hands, and gently moved them to cup his lover’s face, his thumbs rubbing against Stiles’ pale neck. “Calm yourself, Stiles. Your father is alive. As long as you believe, he is alive.” A pause here. “And even if he is not…” The words were hesitant, but still steady, still full of certainty. “Even if he is dead, I will never leave you. I will always be here.”

Stiles closed his eyes as calm settled over him, slowly drifting through his veins like a sedative. His limbs felt heavy and he slumped forward into Derek’s arms, his breaths shallow but steady. All he wanted to do was sleep, even though he was sure that nightmares would haunt him.

"I haven’t had that happen since my mother died," Stiles croaked out, his voice brittle.

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, his own breath shaky now, but in relief.


	15. Chapter 15

  


+++

Emperor Gerard walked out on the podium, an ashen faced Stiles behind him, the boy’s eyes clouded in confusion but sharp with suspicion. The gathering before them was mass. It seemed that all of Rome had come to dine for the great, and now sadly late, Senator Stilinksi. Many faces shone with tears in the noonday sun, and there was not a smile to be seen or a cheer to be heard, even from the tiniest of babes. Today was a day for mourning.

"Senator Stilinski," Emperor Gerard began, his crackling voice carried through the silence, "was a great man. He fought for our great nation, golden and shining in the sun, paramount to Mount Olympus itself, till the last of his breath. He was paramount to several Roman victories throughout his lifetime, more than any man would care to count, and it is only truth that he is a large reason why we are still the glorious empire we are today. Though we were not there to put the golden coins upon his eyes for him to cross to the Underworld, he has no doubt paid his way through his honor and valor a thousand times over. I would not be surprised if the Gods have asked him to dine with them, and he now sits in their merry halls, drinking upon their ambrosia, his glorious wife Claudia now by his side."

Derek was in the crowd standing next to Scott. He had not been allowed to accompany Stiles to the Emperor’s chambers, which he was both relieved and anguished by. Who would protect his Lordling now? And the boy did seem so young, so pale and broken, standing behind the mighty emperor who swathed himself in power.

"But we must learn to see the gods’ designs," Emperor Gerard continued, inhaling deeply through his nose as he grasped the podium before him. "Each of us has a place within this world, and a fate we must belong to. We may only see plays of great heroes and epic battles, but even the lowest of us will have a design to our name. And just as Senator Stilinski’s design was not foreseen until this tragic circumstance, so too was I unable to see what design they held for his honorable son. So the string of fate has been cut, so early in our Senator’s life… But so another string will be joined to the remaining Stilinski blood, entwined together with the golden sacredness of matrimony."

Stiles eyes widened in horror, and he quickly glanced down at the crowd, seeking out Derek’s gaze. Derek could feel himself turn to stone, his fists clenching, his face void of all emotions. He had not expected to hear talk of marriage for years… But why announce it here? Lydia’s family should be the one to make the announcement, and the young lady was not even present. Only Stiles and the Argents…

Realization hit him just as Emperor Gerard spoke once more.

"In light of his father’s great honor to our people, I will now make the Stilinski name connected to my own household." The crowd stirred, confusion waving through them as Stiles’ mouth opened in shock. "Young Lord Stilinski will be wed to my granddaughter, Allison, and will wear the golden diadem after my son. I believe that this will create an even more glorious Rome for us all to be citizens of, and he will pave a shining path to victory, to our future, to an even more powerful Rome!"

The crowd stood in stunned silence for several heartbeats… Before erupting in a joyous cry which rebounded across the city.

Stiles and Derek simply remained looking at each other, suddenly feeling further apart than any physical distance could make them.

+++

  
  
  
  
  
  


+++

Allison clenched her hands, still resting on her lap. “I think it’s about time I was told what is going on,” she stated, and though her voice was soft it still held the air of a command.

Scott smiled nervously, rubbing his neck. “Going on? Didn’t Stiles just explain-“

"Do not mock me, Scott." Allison stood, her eyes flashing. "I’ve been patient. I did not question your reasons for leaving my family’s employ, and I did not press you to tell me when you clearly weren’t ready. But I-" The words seem to stick in her throat, her eyes shining with angry tears, though she refused to shed them. "I need to be told now," she ended, her voice barely above a whisper.

Derek and Stiles looked at each other, their eyes unsure. Still, neither of them made to speak, seeming to silently agree to allow Scott this decision. Would the soldier tell Allison the truth?

"Allison…" Scott stepped forward, making to hold her hands, but she moved them away from his grasp. "Allison, please," he pleaded, his voice filled with agony. "I want to tell you, I really do, but.. I just can’t. Not now, not yet."

"Well then," Allison answered, her voice clipped with decision, "I suppose I will just muddle around in the dark then, shall I? Be wed to your best friend, with no other choice?" She turned away from Scott before he had time to speak, and called out, "Isaac!"

Isaac, who had been standing a far distance away well out of earshot, perked up as his lady called him, rushing to her side. Stiles couldn’t help but note that he had a sword at his side, obviously gaining enough power as a servant to become a soldier, a far higher position.

Isaac bowed, glancing at Scott wearily. “Are you ready to leave, my lady?”

"Yes. Inform my father of my departure, I wish to leave at once." Allison’s voice was icy, and she refused to turn back towards Scott.

"Allison, please," Scott began again, moving to grab her arm, "don’t-"

Issac’s sharp blade cut him off, pressed lightly against his arm. “I would not be so quick to grab the lady if I was you,” Isaac warned with an easy air, though his body was stiff, his posture that of a soldier rather than a friend.

Scott couldn’t help the growl that emanated from his throat, though he was quick to choke it off as he moved back.

"Isaac, please!" Stiles protested, moving to stand with a gaping mouth. "We’re you’re friends-"

"Hardly that," Isaac was quick to remind him, his eyes mysterious and bold. "The loyalty I have towards you all pales in comparison to my assigned ward, I assure you. Do not test me on that."

Stiles eyes widened in surprise, and he looked back to Derek. But the man was simply staring at Isaac with a small frown, and made no move to stop him, or to interfere. Then again, Stiles thought, perhaps Derek understood Isaac’s reasoning more than any of them.

Allison left without another word, without looking back, Isaac by her side. Stiles felt like he had fewer allies than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> To follow the story on tumblr, or just check us out, you can find Ember at ember-to-ash.tumblr.com and Cofie at littlecofiegirl.tumblr.com. Ember also posts a lot of stuff about her other fanfictions, and Cofie posts all of her fanart there!


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